My prison pen pal “Conway” sent this poem in his Aug. 31 letter, written on the back of a disciplinary notice he received for participating in a hunger strike to end inhumane conditions in California prisons. Sign the online petition to support their protest.
Tree of Uncertainty
Begin with a gallery
hung up high.
Who was I, was I not
a lost thought,
or shattered thinker?
Fingers point, look closer
in-out at everywhere.
Full-blown kaleidoscopes
show new-views
if hopes dare.
Paint chips, in the musical time
of crackling things, tripping
over too many, themed questions.
How many more designs, laws
years, flaws, locked-up tiers?
Stacked absence, bad dreams
muffled screams, slipping
while existence’s sad smile
silently cracks;
Like the sidewalk, Avenue
you used to skip
on the way to school; Now
A void, now a prison
no win, deep end,
as chain-bound sleep
blankly yanks away
another dusty,
day plus day.
Still
I miss, what nothing needs.
(Excepting maybe weeds,)
That feed upon, another caustic dawn
which was lost again
when I was found, gone.
So, escort mere mourning
that drove time here
minds migrating
to counts we cleared.
Leaf through these pages
like History, or listen
to leaves, fall off this tree
burdens of, uncertainty…